


So Non-Conformist

by Nitzer



Category: South Park
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Middle School, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Underage Kissing, just kissing i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5489912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitzer/pseuds/Nitzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The youngest goth hates middle school. There's no reason not to...except maybe a kid genius with colder eyes than his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Non-Conformist

**Author's Note:**

> Written before Kindergoth was Firkle but I don't mention his name anyway.

Middle school was bullshit. I couldn’t find anyone to argue me on that. The students were all going through some weak-ass rebellious phase while they still had time for one. The teachers were all bitter or retarded or both. You couldn’t even pick your own shitty classes yet. You just suffered.

                It was especially bullshit for me though. I didn’t even get to enjoy my stupid rebellious phase, I’d been fighting the conformists since I was five, fuck, maybe even younger. And my friends were all at least three years older than me and were already in high school. So I was a loner with no conspirators or anyone who even remotely interested me, trapped in a school system that already made me want to give myself a full-frontal lobotomy.

                Well…that wasn’t entirely true. I mean the whole thing was still utter bullshit of course but there was one person who interested me at least a little bit. He didn’t seem like a conformist. He dressed like one and he wasn’t one of us so he should’ve been but he didn’t act like one. He was smart, really fucking smart, like way too smart for our stupid, shitty school. But he wasn’t a nerd, he wasn’t awkward enough to be one. He was surprisingly socially adept, he just doesn’t bother. He was cold which I appreciated. Every attempt anyone made to socialize with his was outright ignored or met with short, robotic answers. And he was the little brother of the boyfriend of a former goth which counted for something, I guess. His name was Ike Broflovski and he at least mildly interested me.

                We ended up sitting next to each other in a lot of classes and I guess that produced some kind of…tolerance? He never complained that I smelled like an ashtray or that I popped my gum all the time. And sometimes he’d just look at me and sigh like I was the only other one who knew how bullshit the whole thing really was. And it made me feel stupidly special like I was some conformist cheerleader bitch and the quarterback winked at me.

                We kinda got forced together with a history project. Ike hated early American history, hated everything the course focused on and I just hated projects. I refused to do them. I asked him if he wanted to eat with me at lunch after that, knowing we both sat alone. He showed up to the back steps with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a juice box. It was so weirdly childish it almost didn’t fit him. “Can I sit?” He asked, eyeing me leaning against the wall.

                “Yeah,” I said a little faster than normal.

                He sat down on the top step, leaning against the rail. He looked so normal, plain grey jacket, short, but not buzzed, black hair and jeans. It almost made me question why I was so interested in him. Then I found his eyes—icy blue and utterly devoid of warmth. Oh, yeah, that was why—he got it. He was one of us even if he didn’t look like it.

                “What do you want to do for the poster?” He was trying to make conversation. I was almost honored.

                I shrugged. “I dunno. Wanna just not do it?”

                He laughed, it was rough, way different from his normal voice. “Yeah, we should.”

                That managed to get a smile out of me. “Why not? You probably have like a fucking 100% anyway.”

                “98.” He corrected. He went back to chewing silently. I sat down next to him, hunched over my knees. He glanced over me once, expression as unchanging as always. Once he had studied me enough or whatever he turned forward again. “Why here?” He gestured to the dirty, empty concrete lot fenced in with rusty chainlink.

                This would sound so conformist. “My friends used to sit here.”

                He nodded.

                “Wanna come over after school?” I tried to ask as casually as possible.

                “To not work on the project?” One eyebrow raised a bit.

                I made some noncommittal gesture.

                His eyes sparked with something as he thought about it. “Yeah, sure.”

                “Okay, I’ll just walk you there.” We spent the rest of lunch in silence. I kept catching his eye and sometimes he’d be looking back and I swear his face got a little pinker.

                That’s how I ended up with Ike Brovlofski—boy genius, possible robot, singular interesting person my age—on the floor of my bedroom listening to doom metal and avoiding a project. He seemed to be processing the music—thinking about it harder than I had. “This is goth?” He asked finally.

                I hadn’t been expecting that. “Well…yeah, it’s still dark and about pain, it’s just harder.” I shrugged. “I like growling more than whining.”

                He nodded and I couldn’t help but think of the short, black strands getting stuck in my carpet. It would look exactly like mine. His eyes were just a little warm, it was strange but welcome.

                “Why me?” I asked, suddenly curious.

                He twisted his neck to look at me. “Hm?”

                “You never let anyone else talk to you but here you are—” I gestured broadly, “in my room, asking _me_ about my music.”

                His smiles were small even though his mouth was wide. “You don’t talk to me or look at me like you want to pick me apart. You don’t do this because you think I’m lonely.” He shrugged. “You’re just better.”

                I wanted to hear him say that over and over again. “You just seemed interesting.” I coughed and tried to cover it up. “You don’t seem like a conformist.”

                He turned around so he was fully facing me. “Really?” He asked, looking interested. “Why?”

                “You seemed like you knew how bullshit everything really is.”

                He smiled. “You do too.” He stayed quiet, eyes travelling over all the band posters and candle stubs and heavy curtains. His eyes were cold and calculating like he was taking in everything he could and sorting it or something.

                “And you do this robot thing sometimes. That’s pretty cool.”

                He smiled and his eyes lit up and I stopped seeing the robot thing. I just saw a kid. He lowered his head and his voice. “All Canadians are part robot, you know? We were becoming too weak to survive so they enhanced us.” His ice blue eyes were amazingly earnest until he burst out laughing. And it was stupidly cute in a really conformist way.

                I smiled a bit too.

                “I’m not doing the bullshit poster.” He declared and I could hear a bit of accent for once.

                “Good ‘cuz I wasn’t.”

                He stared at the ceiling again. “I think I like this song.” He said quietly as the guitar solo started. His expression lost all of its focus and his eyes went icy again. I scooted towards him and he looked back towards me when I got close. The corners of my mouth twitched up in what could’ve been a smile and his eyes softened. I tilted my head enough to slide my lips against his and his eyes slipped closed. I could feel my lipstick smudge a little. The thought of child prodigy, Ike Broflovski, with my lipstick on him was so hot I had to pull back to see it.

                His mouth was darkened and my hands were still fisted in his jacket and—fuck, was he always this small? His eyes looked up at me, slightly curious like this was only a little odd to him.

                “You were doing that robot thing again.” I offered as some sort of explanation.

                “I thought the robot thing was cool.” He cocked his head and—wow, he was starting to look really fucking young.

                “It is, just…wanted to kiss you then, I guess.”

                “Do you still want to?” I wasn’t sure if he was encouraging me or not, his voice was intensely neutral. I shrugged and he smiled, prying my fingers off of his jacket and replacing it with his hands. “Because I want to.” I sighed in relief and leaned down to kiss him again.

                I threaded my hands through his hair. It was the same inky black as mine but it was natural. Why was that so hot to me? I tugged at it lightly and he gasped, opening his mouth to me. Maybe because it could make him do that, that was definitely a reason to find it hot.

                He wasn’t one of us. He was still wearing the plain grey hoodie and normal jeans and some stupid, knock off sneakers but he wasn’t a conformist either. He was so non-conformist that he didn’t fit into any group. That sparked something in me, not love. Definitely not love, we were fucking middle schoolers after all—affection maybe? It was more like all of the things I felt before but amplified—interest, endearment, intrigue and attraction. Love was too conformist. I just wanted to kiss him some more.

                When I pulled back his face was flushed and his hair was mussed and his lips were much darker. “So?” He prodded.

                “I’m not doing the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing.” I warned him.

                He laughed. “Of course not, that’s too conformist.” I knew he was teasing me but I didn’t mind. It was…affectionate?

                That was…that was _cute_. It sparked something new in me. He got it. He got it and he listened to doom metal with me and he was interesting. And I wasn’t gonna do the boyfriend thing now because the boyfriend thing was bullshit but maybe one day he’d make me want to.


End file.
